Rating the Book Boyfriend (Book Boyfriend Builders)

11. Riggs

CHAPTER 11

Riggs

M y friends may be idiots, but they were a hundred percent right when it came to Libby. I fucking like her.

And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Knocking on the door, I force a bright smile when Lucinda answers, and I lean in for a kiss. She offers her cheek, not her lips, and I brush it lightly. “You ready to go?”

“Sure. Let me get my purse.” Then she looks over her shoulder at me. “You didn’t bring the truck, did you?” Lucinda hates my truck.

“No, I brought the Mercedes.”

“Good.”

The ride is made in silence while she scrolls on her phone, which gives me time to think. The first month after Lucinda and I got together a year ago was great. I took her to all her favorite places and doted on her.

The second month, I tried to introduce her to things I liked—fishing, the beach, parasailing—but she despised all of it. I thought it was okay though. Couples could enjoy different things, right? We could have our own interests that we could do with our friends when we weren’t together.

In the third month, we became intimate. It was… fine. We had sex a couple times a week. Nothing mind blowing, but it fulfilled a need.

On paper, our relationship was perfect. Our families were bound by business and old friendships, so I hoped love would blossom, but by the half-year mark, it withered on the vine. The closer I tried to get, the more she pulled away. Since then, I’d tried to foster more , but it wasn’t something you could force.

I treated Lucinda with the respect she deserved as my girlfriend, but the bone-deep feelings I’d always craved? Yeah, I couldn’t quite get them to surface.

But it was okay. I would gladly give up a few years of my life if it made my grandmother happy. So, I’d bide my time and wish I could free myself of the noose I wore as my daily jewelry.

“We’re here,” I announce, pulling up the long, curving driveway, the white gravel crunching beneath my tires. Nana’s home came into view when I topped the last hill. Her manor is enormous, but it is also warm and full of love.

I get out of the silver luxury car and round the front to open Lucinda’s door. She’s wearing a gauzy white shift dress with tiny rhinestones dotting the neckline. “You look really pretty today,” I tell her, and she smiles.

“Thanks.” I hand her the flowers I’d picked up on the way, and she loops her fingers with mine as we ascend the steps. The only time Lucinda initiates contact is when we’re in front of our families. Maybe we’re both pretending.

“About time,” Nana says, swinging open the door. My heart performs a little tap dance in my chest. My grandmother appears small at first glance. She’s barely above five feet tall, with an ample figure that’s the result of a lifetime of pasta and garlic bread. But the woman’s personality is larger than life.

“Nana, what are you doing answering the door?” I ask, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She smells like an Italian bakery.

“That’s what you do when someone comes for a visit,” she tells me in her no-nonsense tone. “Unless it’s those folks trying to tell you about Jesus. Then you hide in a windowless room till they go away.”

Lucinda gives her a simpering smile and hands over the flowers. “You look lovely today, Nana.”

My grandma’s eyes flicker down to our joined hands. “You do too, dear.”

“Where is Nelda?” I ask, wondering why Nana’s house-manager-slash-butler didn’t answer the door.

“Probably banging the gardener,” she says, winking mischievously at me. “I’ve been trying to set those two up for ages, and I think it’s finally starting to take.”

“You’re something else, Nana,” I tell her with a laugh. “Why don’t we sit down?”

She loops her arm through my free one, using me for support as we walk to the back of the house. “I was totally kidding about Nelda, by the way. She ran to the store to get me those crackers I like. Let’s go sit in the garden.” I hear the low sigh from Lucinda. She hates being outdoors, but I know she won’t complain in front of Nana.

My grandmother’s gait is slow, but she seems pretty steady today. A nurse jogs down the curved staircase, a little breathless. “There you are, Ms. Viviana. I told you to wait for me so I could help you down the stairs.”

“Psshhht, I’m fine,” Nana scoffs. “You act like I’m an old lady with congestive heart failure.” Then she cackles at her joke because that’s exactly what she is.

Stopping, I link Nana’s arm with Lucinda’s and say, “You two beauties head on outside. I want to talk to Ophelia.”

“They’re going to talk about me behind my back,” Nana tells Lucinda in a loud voice as they exit through the french doors that lead to the garden.

“How is she today?” I ask the nurse, a lanky Jamaican woman with a lovely accent I could listen to all day.

“Having a good day. The cardiologist came by this morning and gave Ms. Viviana a good report. He said he will talk to you about it tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Ophelia. I appreciate everything you do for my grandmother, and please call me if you need anything.”

“I will. You’re a good boy, Riggs.”

“That’s what they tell me,” I say with a cheesy grin. “Thanks, Ophelia,” I pat the woman on the shoulder before heading outside.

The visit with Nana goes well. Lucinda and I put on a good show, mimicking the kind of affection we shared when we first got together, which is pretty much absent now. My grandmother is glowing the entire time, her eyes not missing a single gesture, and I know I’m doing the right thing.

Even though, for the first time, pretending like Lucinda and I are still an adoring couple feels very, very wrong.

“Do you want to come over tonight?” I ask Lucinda on the way home.

“No,” she says breezily as she stares down at her phone, “I have to pack since I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

From my peripheral vision, I can see her look up from her phone and at my face. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“Just okay ?” On the last word, she lowers her voice to copy my own.

“You said no, so yes, that’s it.”

“Fine,” she huffs, returning to her regularly scheduled scrolling.

“Fine,” I repeat, and for reasons I can’t define, a tiny spark of relief shines inside my chest.